


As written by Villains

by 0fsilver



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Content, depictions of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6303565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0fsilver/pseuds/0fsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are bookmarks in lives not so easily forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As written by Villains

_“Locus!”_  
  
That’s not his name.  
  


It’s an idle thought as the world swells with heat and swallows him in white. The air tastes vaguely like raspberries and remains sour on his tongue. Scalding his airways and leaving him dizzy on a sweet and bitter burn, choking against dust and muted chaos around him.

There’s something wet across his face and a hollow bell rings out against a horizon he cannot see. Shifting his chin towards the sound only increases a pain he does not enjoy. The bell sings once more and it feels like a section of his skull has broken off. Brittle like glass and fell to the floor. He broke a plate once as a boy. A cream colored dish with delicately painted flowers along a golden edge. He was startled by the approach of boots like thunder, belonging to a man who told him never to enter the fragile room. The boy lost his grip on the plate and it shattered in his Father’s looming shadow.

Yes. It felt very similar to that pain.

_“Locus!”_

A whistle joins the bell and a shape makes itself known from the all-consuming white. Shadows taking form, pressing against a crisp sheet into something nearly familiar. Oh. He knows that face beneath dirt and red. Last he saw, it was protected by a helmet of sharp angles flashing him a nod and a salute while he crept down into the dark. Locus had a bad feeling then, staking out the unknown territory. The fallen city as treacherous as a labyrinth of barbed steel. He’d asked Felix to be careful but Locus knew that scout would never dare.

Oh. Locus. He supposes that is his name.

“Snap out of it!” Something heavy is knocked into his chest, hands scrambling to grab for it. His helmet. Pale and painted. The intricate designs Felix drew in late one night as they awaited their next orders. Knees touching while they sat upright in a single cot and lied to one another about what hurt. This was his helmet, and that was Felix and this time Locus knew he wouldn’t be able to lie about what hurt.

“Oh god.”

“We have to move!”

The bell distorts into a screaming missile which disrupts the world in a flare of heat and dirt. Their bodies only remain standing from the explosion by the strength of one another, at least until Felix forces the helmet back onto Locus’ skull and drags him forward. They’re running now. Half slipping on wet mud and uneven concrete of a rusted city now upturned by an invasion. “They weren’t supposed to be here.” Locus comments and couldn’t say if it was aloud or in the panic of his mind. Felix doesn’t let go and they’re running against heat and what feels like earthquakes chasing them across the debris.

“Move your ass!” Locus’ eyes aren’t catching up with the rest of the world though he can feel his surroundings change. Bleary objects, unfocused scrambling shapes circling them. Flares of bright lights and Felix’s body jerking from one side to the other, dragging Locus along through the chaos. One hand aches from where it squeezes on Felix’s armor where the plates overlap and allow for movement. The only solid in a world on fire.

Something erupts nearby and knocks them over. Bits of something slap wet and heavy against his helmet and Felix makes a sound like choking. They’re tangled together, Locus’ side a dead weight on Felix’s legs and though he cannot see what occurred he knows they need to move. One arm pulls Felix around the waist, ignores the way his fingers slip first on a slick surface of armor, and hoists them back to their feet.

“Oh god, oh fuck did you see—did you see that?” Felix trembles and Locus can only shake his head “no” as he can’t see much more of anything past his nose. “Evac ships will be at the docks,” The trembling stops. “We have to move.”

They start running again as hulking shadows appear in Locus’ peripheral.

…

The first time Felix hears Locus laugh was when his hair begins to grow out. The army buzz didn’t agree with him, and really who was going to keep him up to code? They were in a war, actually. They were the first to die so what his hair looked like was probably the least of any commander’s worry. Unfortunately for him his hair grew in vertically and while Felix was still bleary and off center from just waking up—Locus was holding his sides laughing at him from across the tent.

Felix was bitter over it to be honest. After all he’d tried to crack one smile out of his partner, this humiliating moment was the one to finally do it. Shit. Even hitting Locus square in the face with his military sanctioned brick of a pillow didn’t make him feel much better about it. In fact that made it worse when Locus proceeded to tackled him from the distance of their cots and threw them both to the floor.

Wrestling with Locus really didn’t do much good. Guy had the upper hand of weight and impeccable morning agility. Whereas Felix was still half asleep and grabbing blindly at anything that seemed vital hoping for the upper hand. Which did little except ending their brief moment of peace with Felix grabbing Locus’ balls and startling even himself.

“What. Are you doing?” Locus said too seriously for a man with a hand on his junk. Staring down at him with half disgusted and half…almost fascinated eyes. Which was interesting in a way.

“Um.” To say he was afraid of his assigned partner wouldn’t be saying enough. Locus, while showing extraordinary moments of gentleness no one else believed, was quite terrifying. Had a way of making even the smallest actions appear like a threat. Hell. Felix watched the guy eat noodles once and it seemed like he was trying to murder them first. “Surprise attack?” Best to hope for a quick death. Maybe their superior would miss him? Jack in bunker CC still owes him money too. Damn.

“Now what?”

Oh snap. There was an abrupt and shocking shyness to Locus’ voice just then, just around the edges of his salty-cranky tone. He watched Felix with terrifyingly sharp eyes and Felix, who can read people, felt lost for the moment. Unable to process even the possibility of interest in the other man. Sharing a tent, sharing blankets when it was cold was one thing. But this? Entirely new territory. Which, to be honest, was always the most fun Felix ever could have. It’s why his main crime as a child was running wild through the mining facility and graying his mom’s hair faster than age could.

 That same terrible enjoyment of something detrimental to his health was certainly how he wound up sliding down to Locus’ hips and freeing his cock with an awkward tug of his hand. Barely free from UNSC joggers before Felix was gurgling down Locus’ dick with no tact or fashion. No want to be sly or sexy about it. Just a twinge of pain in his neck from the angle and his partner slouching above him with a shiver as Felix worked him over with his mouth. Sloppy, wet sucking and no style. Fingertips unsteady on thick thighs when Locus began to rock deeper into his throat, elbows dug into the ground above Felix’s shoulders.

He didn’t last long and Felix might have made fun of him were they not in the same ragged state, slouched together on their tent floor. Felix self-consciously wiping come from his chin and throat while Locus was in agony beside him. In a good way, at least he hoped so. Though judging by the sudden hurry Locus was to drag his pants back up hips and storm out of the tent he wouldn’t put money on it.

His voice was a wreck all day, and he snarled and snarked with anyone who dared give him a hard time about it. Most assumed either he was sick or giving it up to a Captain who was always sweet on him but Felix didn’t feel much in the mood to brag. Never a “sloppy blow job in the middle of a war and tell” type of guy. Went through his day as casually as he could: and wondered the chances of Locus having packed up and requested a new scout to work with. Brooding over the fact he didn’t feel /guilty/ over anything past possibly upsetting his partner. After all, in this hell they really only did have one another.

Which came as a second surprise for the day when night fell and returning to their tent revealed Locus still present. He looked bruised and tired, knuckles raw from beating something into submission. Worried frown folding his expression. He sat on the edge of Felix’s cot even, watching him the moment he stepped through the entry.

“Please don’t confess your love for me, because I really can’t handle that bull shit.” Felix couldn’t stop himself while he planted his ass beside the other. Stretching back to lean against arms and staring at Locus’ shoulder. Dark. Darker by the sunlight. He looked /warm/ all the time, could drive a lesser man mad.

They didn’t speak that night. Locus held the covers for Felix and they both fit like misshapen jigsaw pieces in the one man cot. Legs stacked and hips bumping into one another in the night. Uncomfortable even when Locus settled between Felix’s thighs and rolled their hips together until they were both clawing into the bed’s frame, Felix’s legs at bent angle from across Locus’ torso. Any moans cut off by hissing exhales and a determination not to be heard. Jerking hungry bodies into one another and against the friction provided until they came, fully clothed, and gasped hot and pained against shoulders. 

From there the most they could manage was lazy movements to push soiled clothes to the floor and fight over the blanket. A restless night regardless of whatever relief was settling into their bones.

And in the morning, Locus laughed at his hair again.

…

Felix reached back to fist a hand in Locus’ hair. The length was growing rather quickly in the open world. “Like a weed” Felix had said once after refusing to cut it for his partner. He enjoyed it long, said it gave Locus a wild look. Tough. Which in their business wasn’t a thing to ignore. Personally Locus assumed Felix just liked it for when he could play with it. Braid sections to tiny beads he bought on supply runs. Tug on his ponytails when they argued. Grab a palm full when Locus was fucking him into whatever surface they landed on. Felix wanting Locus to keep his long hair was purely selfish.

Except now, Locus was thankful it was there to distract Felix when he lowered the blade with a decisive swipe of his strength and took off the crushed fingers from Felix’s left hand.

He felt hair rip from his scalp and Felix’s scream was horrific, even through the cloth keeping flashing teeth from biting through. Guilt tore through his stomach but Locus kept focused. Applied medical care to the new wounds now bleeding freely and in a few moments spared Felix’s life.

His partner did not cry and went silent after the initial shock. A blessing, he assumes, of pain. Locus was tender and careful with the hand. Set it gently to Felix’s lap and kept arms around his partner’s torso and counted the minutes he continued to shiver whether he felt the injury or not. Kissed his brow and kept them still and silent in the hovel of mud and metal they were forced to hide in while the bastards who betrayed them hunted them across the dead city. 

 It wasn’t the first time a job had gone sour, easier to betray their employer than to get themselves killed trying to accomplish a mad man’s desires. Though this round wasn’t so easy to walk away from. Note to them, never tangle with someone who can live without the job’s completion. It was a lesson Locus wouldn’t so casually forget. They needed to be more careful with their clients. Pirates and dirty merchants, power players shuffling out of sight of the military was one thing. This was simply a mistake.

“Locus,” It was the first time Felix spoke since he screamed and Locus held him tighter for good measure.

“Are you alright? Do you need water?” They only had a enough for one day. Locus was fine with wasting it on Felix.

“I just realized something.”

“What’s that?” It would take five days for the second round of mercenaries sent after them to clear the area and leave. Five days hiding in overrun sewers and praying a fever didn’t spark.

“I have a finger gun.” Felix raised the mangled hand now missing the ring and pinkie, mouthing a “Bang” with a twisting smile much to Locus’ gaping horror. “I’m going to kill every last one of those bastards.” He swung the “gun” back and forth and slouched against Locus’ arms. Settling in as pleased as a kitten. 

“That’s going to be so much fun.”

…

“Corporal, this is your new partner. He will be working with you on your exploratory patrols from now on.” The Major seemed well-adept at ignoring the scout’s wild grin. “Your squadron will be broken up into teams, each selected for highlighted talents which will assist in the advancement of our ranks through enemy territory.” The scout was just /staring/ at him and not listening to a word their superior officer was saying. Staring and smiling. Unnerving.

“Your specialist division will be known as _Cloak and Dagger_. Lead by a new Commander arriving today. She’s been assigned the prototype LOCUS armor and we expect great things from the lot of you.” The scout was too small. His wrists too thin for as many scars as his hands wore. There was something terrible in his eyes and he knew it. Flaunted it.

“Corporal are you listening to me?”  His spine went straighter.

“Sir yes sir.” There was a sour taste in the air.

“Considering how many lives you now have in your hands Corporal. I certainly hope so.”  A sharp sniff then, “Dismissed.” The scout lingered briefly before shuffling after the others. His eyes heavy on his new partner, sizing him up, giving off a curious light before ducking out to rejoin the others of his rank. He however was stopped by the presence of the Major, setting one foot before him and refusing eye contact.

“Sir?”

“You understand this is a suicide mission?”

“Yes sir.” There was no reason to lie now. His signed his name down and was willing to live up to that promise. Or perhaps, to die for it.

“I’m being sent out soon, and won’t be here to protect you any longer.” The Major explained and he felt a dull ache at the base of his chest, suffocating him. He recalled the scout’s look, the way he seemed positively amused by the world. He personally couldn’t imagine finding anything worth smiling for. “If you fail. If you die…”

“Then I suppose you’ll receive a letter.” He didn’t dare meet the officer’s eyes, the ones he didn’t receive in the lottery of genetics. More like his mother if just in appearance. “Is that all Sir?”

“If you die, do it honorably.” The Major didn’t salute. “I’ll be the one carrying the weight of our name if you go out a coward.”

“Sir yes sir.”

…

They held hands for a brief moment when no one could see. Skin on skin. Thumbs scarred over from years of abuse rubbing down knuckles that always swell in the rain. Their brows did not quite meet when Locus leaned into kiss Felix’s cheek, and stopped himself. Reeling back just enough to exhale across familiar skin and causing his partner’s lashes to flicker in agitation. Same way they did if Locus watched him too closely while he slept.

Goodbyes already shared in the past three nights after it was decided Felix would arrive on Chorus first. The rebellion army would clearly be more receptive to Felix’s doting charms and Locus was hardly a people person.

Locus had rewired Felix’s armor to ensure their personal communications would still be online once he arrived on Chorus in a year. Felix freed and buzzed Locus’ hair to the scalp as there would be no one to maintain his partner’s long locks for some time. Affectionate gestures. He joked about making a luck charm out of the fallen locks, some outdated sentiment Locus had sneered at. Only he wished he’d allowed it now, squeezing Felix’s hands, bringing warm fingertips briefly to his chin.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked, gentle and quiet.

“The money’s good.” Felix rationalized and was soft when he brushed thumbs down Locus’ chin. “And besides, you’re the one saying we need a challenge. We talked about this.” They had, and Felix was reluctant at first. Locus was the one who put this job forward only to regret it when it was too late. “This isn’t goodbye.” Felix pinched his nose in a playful manner which did not make Locus feel much better.

“It feels like it.”

“One year.” Felix’s voice was easy. Similar to how low he would drop the sound when Locus rose from a nightmare. A memory. “We lived how many years without each other before? What’s one year to us?”

An eternity.

But Locus doesn’t say that. He kisses his partner briefly and lets him go. Watches him weave around pirates and elegant war ships until even his shadow slips away. And all that’s left is a doubt.

…

“Do you know that one?”

The child frowned, placing his hands on his mother’s palms and shifting their weight back and forth. He was small, even compared to the other boys his age. Thin and tired as most children on the plant were, though his colony survived well enough on it’s own. He was nothing special. Dark hair, plain eyes and his mother’s nose. Nothing unique.

“Orion’s belt.”

“Very good. And how did it get there?” The child made a dissatisfied noise as he stared at the lights floating across his ceiling. The room dark beyond glittering projections, shades drawn tight against the storms roaring and battling outside of the steel cabin.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.” She nudged his cheek with a knuckle, insisting with little words and he groaned and leaned back against her chest. “C'mon.”

“Artemis killed him.”

“Sort of. Why?”

“Because Apollo tricked her into thinking he did something bad.” He continued and seemed unaffected by her pride. “Apollo was jealous and didn’t want to share so sent a scorpion after him and told Artemis he was bad. So she killed him.”

“Apollo is kind of an ass huh?” The mother laughed at her son’s sheer disbelief of the language. Or so she assumed until he stretched to reach her shoulders and pull himself up. Standing between her legs and bringing their noses together.

“No,” He insisted. “That’s not it. He just didn’t want to share.” The boy was quickly becoming worked up and his mother worried.

“So, you think it was ok? That Apollo lied and did that just so he wouldn’t have to share?”

The boy looked too much like his father when he was upset. Not angry, simply hurt in a way only a mother could recognize. He pressed their faces together, smearing his nose against her cheek and huffed from the stress he didn’t know how to process.

“Better than dying because my person didn’t trust me.” He insisted and his mother held him tighter in her arms with the calmest laughter she could muster.

“I think, I understand.” She assured and waited until his mood passed to shift to the next constellation.

…

There is nothing beyond his breath. Wet, strained and flushed against the helmet and with each new stretch of lungs more pain floods in. This is hell. This has to be hell and Locus is drowning in the misshapen forms and screams around them. His heart beats faster and Felix keeps pushing them forward despite the obvious. They will probably die here.

“Can you see at all?”

“Some.” Whatever broke his sight wasn’t letting go and there was an audible crunch when he spoke. Like plaster rubbed with sandpaper above his teeth. Something happened to him that Felix wasn’t eager to share.

Water. He could hear water in the distance and felt paved cement beneath their feet, Felix half dragging them forward. Screaming into the air for evac, dead static as response. There was a hand squeezing his arm, turning him around and pressing a familiar weight into his hands. A rifle, heavy with rounds and still warm, Felix’s stained breathing like a wasp frantic against his ear.

“Back to back ok?” He explained, pressing his spine to Locus’ arm, shuffling them so he could /feel/ every moment. The grooves of armor lining up from shoulder to back, heels briefly met and rearranged for stability. Finger on the trigger. “If you feel me move, follow. Go opposite and don’t stop shooting alright?”

“Copy.”

“Locus, I’m serious. If you move too fast you’re going to shoot me.” Felix leaned back and the edges of helmets, “Cloak and Dagger” now scorched and faded, met in the middle. “Together, ok? We’re going to survive this just hold onto me.” Their weight pressed downwards, using one another as a post to keep upright though it was painful to try. “Together.”

“Together.” Locus echoed.

On Felix’s mark his weapon swelled with heat and fired.

…

The city was rebuilt years ago. Tall, silver spires glittering against the evening sun. Slouching low across an orange and violent sky, dotted with air craft and advertisements. The docks along the east were similar as they were before. Cement slabs like a wall, chopping against the easy waves of the ocean, distant carriers and ebbing lights from ships making port on the warm evening.

Felix had been curious once if they’d ever build monuments to the soldiers who died here. The ones left in mutilated pieces, faces forever twisted in horror of death. Doubted the military would ever admit such defeat, after all, it was only a small group who died there. A handful of specialists with no real name and only one Commander to guide them. Of course he was right in assuming this field which haunted their remaining lives would be left to overgrown weeds and weary docks. No life to speak of past hovering seagulls and a row of ants bringing scraps back to their queen.

Locus scrapped his boot across the dock’s edge, pushing the insects into the water. The smallest disturbance in a great ocean, gone unnoticed and pointless. Upset him more than he wanted to admit. The few ants clinging to life by the tips of their thin legs, designed to survive in a world that saw them as nothing. A disgust and sympathy cut through him and Locus stepped away to avoid crushing the remaining ants under his heel.

The bag deflated slightly when set down at the dock’s end. Though it was easily carried, freeing himself from the weight was dizzying. As if the bag held half the ocean and he was forced to struggle his way there and return it. It was a warm evening, too warm for the heavy coat and thick gloves, but the sensation of “warm” was still far from Locus’ reach. Almost three years now he’d been shivering silently against stars. Up, up where patrols wouldn’t find him, where enemies and adversaries wouldn’t think to look. Space left his bones hollow and hungry. His veins could probably contain the sun at this point and he would still shiver at night in a cold and unforgiving bed.

“I suppose this is your funeral.” He speaks to the ghost always two steps behind him and one second out of sight. “I’m sorry there wasn’t a chance for more. I know you wanted a diamond urn but that seemed, unrealistic given the situation.” There’s something in his throat, a piece of coal with jagged edges trying to force it’s way out. Suffocating him enough that even breathing was agony and his chest was struggling to contain a white fire burning higher in his ribs. He exhaled glass and tried to continue but a far off scream of birds and a ship broke his train of thought and he faltered again. Curling a fist at his side and digging a heel into the ground. Furious when it didn’t give and shatter.

Locus reached into the bag and cradled the angular helmet tightly to his chest. A brief comfort of familiarity soon distorted into a nauseous sensation. Took every bit of strength not to drop the weight and run away as cowards do. A speech had been planned, something bitter and possibly healing, but that wasn’t going to happen now. Here. Finally. After all these years. Memories of a city burning in brilliant shapes and monsters as shadows crumbling from his blind attack. How Felix shook his collar and threw them both into the evac ship. Soldiers and medics flooding around them, commenting on their survival, the chaos below and Locus’ broken face.

How his partner clung to his shoulder and screamed as they fled from hell until they were both sedated for their “own good”.

This place were they both in different ways, died. Seemed good a place as any.

“Good bye Felix.” Locus set the helmet down at the dock’s end. Water just out of reach when the wind pushed harder, the setting sun bringing out the black shade of the ocean. Sinister and dark, befitting a funeral. “I’m sorry.” He spoke to the empty shell, the ghost now anchored to this point when he walked away. Tried to count his steps, keep his movement steady and not run. The empty field smoothed by progress, lacking it’s once horror story charm of overturned buildings and crashed ships. No more soldiers begging for their lives and praying to gods who wouldn’t hear them. Just a quiet field, forgotten in the history books. Ruins no one would recall, just like himself and Felix. No footnote in history save for the nightmares of Chorus’ children until the stories died out through generations.

He reached the vehicle which brought him to this dark place and though he tried so hard not to, had to glance back. Wanted the image of a ghost standing on the dock’s edge beside a helmet like a gravestone. Needed to know Felix wouldn’t follow him past this point.

When he turned, the helmet was gone.

…

Kimball doesn’t sleep well a night. Similar to a child who knows a monster lurks beneath her bed, waiting. Biding his time until the parents wouldn’t be able to save their little girl. She tosses and turns and disturbs her bed partner, though Carolina understands and waits patiently by her side. There, in case Kimball wants to talk about it.

She never does. Carolina understands that as well.

Four, maybe five hours on a good night. It shows in the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the way she slacks her hair neat against her scalp and pins it down. Tight and under control. Once she wore it loud and loose, no time to care when fighting for your life. If it fit beneath her helmet, she didn’t stop to consider what it looked like. Now there are meetings and posters with her face. Medals awarded to a “Hero of Chorus, a true example of Military leadership”. Or so the PR insists. The new law of Chorus, big smiles and get along while those who left the colony to rot try to cover its mistake with a fresh coat of paint and new roads. Putting the blame on a corporation and rogue individuals who wanted to inspire hell.

Some nights Kimball doesn’t sleep at all.

Some nights she lingers in bed only long enough for her bed partner to kiss her to completion, then its back in uniform and out the door. Only a gasping moment in shared sheets with red hair against her belly to fuel her through the remainder of the night.

It’s easier than admitting with or without the company, she doesn’t sleep well at night.

There is a place only a select few know. The Major who arrived with UNSC ships to “return order” to Chorus, his selected officers and only a few Kimball thought could handle the truth. That did not include Washington.

“Lieutenant,” A young soldier salutes as she passes, acknowledging him with a tired nod and her footsteps through cold hallways quicken. Deeper beneath the newly raised command center, only a few years functioning. It was practically a war machine of its own. A shining example of what Kimball didn’t want for Chorus. More guns.

There is a prison beneath the behemoth of a command building. Most filled with pirates awaiting trial, some criminals who stuck their hats in with the wrong crowd, and a heartbreaking few that couldn’t accept the war was over. Only one prisoner was not made public. Only one was an active threat to the glazed peace Chorus should be experiencing. Only Tucker and she could visit, not by any superior clearance, but they were the only two he’d speak with. The Major had been spat at, doctor’s bit. Very like him if Kimball had to guess, though she only truly knew the man for what he was in such brief time.  
  
Assuming she understood him was just a laughable notion. 

They kept him in a secure box of sensors and lights which could cut through any material trying to pass. Some rowdy pirates had tried to escape their prisons lost a hand, he knew better. Didn’t even try even when they returned the ability to walk to him. He never stepped close enough to the wall of light to chance harm and that seemed predictable at least.

“Your trial will begin soon.” Kimball speaks with toes neatly on the perimeter lines. She doesn’t even have to look anymore, she knows /exactly/ where they are. Knows when to stop, knows how loudly to speak so the man can hear her. Now if only her stomach would stop twisting when looking at him. “You’ve been deemed healthy enough to stand for your crimes.”

“Oh good.” Felix stretches across the provided bed in the room of light and his smile is the same of a monster under the bed. Like a serpent unraveling from a coil prepared to hiss and bite. “I’ve been looking forward to that.”    
  
—  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1\. No I never read over what I’ve written save for a basic scan. So any major mistakes or misspellings are simply because I am lazy bones.
> 
> 2\. There will be a sequel to this.
> 
> 3\. Excuse the small notions of my own head-canon dispersed in the above. 
> 
> come join me on tumblr: mercemonster.tumblr.com


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